Dead Man Walking
by America La
Summary: He woke up one day in a white room, heart not beating, not knowing his name or his purpose. The only thing that he knew was that he was an observer. And that he couldn't get a woman named Olivia out of his head. Post season 3. Possable AU.


He waited for a heartbeat.

And found none.

It was as though he didn't exist.

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><p>He was surrounded by an expanse of white, or not so much of white but an apparent lack of color. Like space, but painted over with a really good coat of primer. He was very much alone. And while he had no restraints strapped against his wrists it was fairly obvious that something was preventing his body from moving, sweaty hair clung his is forehead, his eyes unable to move away from a single point directly in front of him.<p>

"_Where the hell am I?" _

He tried to say, but found that his mouth had either refused to move or hard been sealed shut. He didn't even have time to consider the insanity of that idea before a voice spoke to him in his mind. No so much as spoke, but conveyed an idea far too complex for words alone.

_That is not of importance._

He froze, or at least his metal processes froze. He had heard the voice in some half remembered dream. Which moments ago he could have easily recited by heart but now that the unnervingly monotone voice (although there was some depth to it that he could not possibly begin to explain. Almost child like) had filled his thoughts he found it cloudy and indistinguishable besides several flashes of blonde hair and an odd warm feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite identify in such an emotionless place.

His heart should have been screaming inside of his chest. But it couldn't even muster forth a dull thud. Was he dead? No, this isn't what he could have considered to be heaven if there really was such a thing. Then hell maybe? That was definitely a viable option. Not that he even knew who he was in the first place. And yet this didn't seem to bother him in the slightest?

"_Damn this place is starting to rub off on me."_

_That is the point._

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He sneered, finding his own mouth actually moving, although the voice that came out of it was placid. It had about as much interest and color as the abyss that he was suspended in.

_Knock him out._

"Wait. I want answers. Where's Olivia? Is she ok?"

Who was Olivia? The question had left his lips before he could even give it a second thought.

_Wipe him._

"Please no."

If nothingness could become even more of nothing, then that was what followed in a waving curtain that took over his motionless body within seconds. He didn't even get a chance to find out who this Olivia was before it consumed him.

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><p>They were grinding down his jaw.<p>

Who 'They' were, he couldn't quite say. All he knew was that they had poured something that smelled oddly like bleach all over him, sand blasted his skin so that it was inhumanly smooth, and shaved his head (or at least he assumed it was shaved since he couldn't feel his sweat soaked hair pressing against his forehead anymore). Now one of them was taking some sort of sander or grinder and was smoothing down his jaw. And yet he didn't feel any pain. The usual calm that emulated around the atmosphere of the abyss permeated through his flesh that now smelled like Frankenstein's hair salon.

Well this was just wonderful.

"_Olivia—"_

_He's awake. _

_Put him back under._

"_No, please no! Damni—!"_

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><p><em>Now you can wake up. <em>

The voice in his head sounded about as pissed off as anyone could in this painfully tranquil room. It brought him an odd sort of satisfaction to know that he had caused some sort of issue to 'their' smoothly running system.

For the first time he got a good like a the man that had been speaking to him, finding that he could now properly move his eyes away from the very top of the ceiling, propping his smooth elbows up on the table that seemed to grow out of the essence of the room.

He was medium in height, extremely pale so that his skin looked like slightly opaque parchment paper. He had a smooth square face and head and blue-green eyes that looked both blank and deeply perceptive at the same time, a black fedora covered his head and he wore a dark black suit so that the whole ambiance reminded him of a penguin. He was about as interesting as a blank sheet of paper taped to a clean white desk.

"Where am I?" His voice came out in the same unnervingly dry monotone that it had before, he grit his teeth in frustration at the sound.

_You are nowhere._

"What?"

The man didn't seem to want to elaborate, instead pulled out some sort of black notebook that be began to scribble in from right to left.

He wracked his brains for another question. Something important. Something that was lurking just beneath the surface. He had known it not that long ago, yet now he found that he couldn't get though the barrier that kept him away from it. Flashes of blonde hair.

An angered longing rose in his chest that wasn't even close to reflected in his voice "Who am I?"

_That is not of importance. _

"_It sure as hell is!" _He thought, since didn't want to know what the robot voice sounded like what cussing. Probably like a cat trying to imitate a bird.

_Fine._

Again a glimmer of annoyance caught in the bald man's throat.

_Who you were is not of importance. From this point on your name is September. You are an Observer._

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><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_**Why hello there, congratulations, you just survived the first chapter/prologue!**_

_**Some things that I wanted to say before continuing. If this has any resemblance to any other stories, I am sorry and this wasn't intentional. I just know that there are a lot of post season three fan fictions being published right now and some ideas are bound to overlap.**_

_**Also I'd love reviews from you awesome people! It makes me write faster and helps me become a better writer.**_


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